


All The Legal Halls Of Shame

by LadyShadowphyre



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Castiel is Enamored With His Handsome Rescuer, Decapitation of a Rogue Vampire, Licensed Hunter Sam Wesson, M/M, Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. (Supernatural), Sandover'verse, White Collar Hacker Sam Wesson, cliffhanger ending, minor vomiting, no i will not apologize - Freeform, original vampire characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21742381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowphyre/pseuds/LadyShadowphyre
Summary: Detroit was the city of a thousand secrets, and hardly anyone knew. Sam Wesson didn't claim to know all of them, but he knew enough to keep himself and others safe in the shadows, finding more fulfillment in being the licensed Hunter of Detroit than he ever did working tech support for Sandover Bridge & Iron. Secrets have a way of sneaking up on you, however, especially in a city where your secrets are alive and think you've been ignoring them.
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Wesson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	All The Legal Halls Of Shame

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SPN Fluff Bingo square: Business AU  
> Written for the Sam Winchester Bingo square: Sam Wesson  
> Written for the Bad Things Happen Bingo square: Lifted By The Neck  
> Written for the Heaven & Hell Bingo square: Neighbors  
> Written for the Good Things Happen Bingo square: Comfort From A Panic Attack  
> Written for the SPN Song Challenge Bingo square: "Even Flow" by Pearl Jam

**T** HE DREAMS HOUNDED him in the daytime now. Ever since dealing with Sandover's ghost, Sam Wesson had been unable to deny the pull he felt in his blood to fight against the unseen supernatural threats of the world, a pull he could no longer assuage with monster movies and figurines and obscure books on ancient supernatural lore. Sandover's up and coming Vice President, Dean Smith, had obviously felt the pull, too, but apparently he was better able to ignore it and pretend it never happened, something that Sam could no longer do. Quitting his soul-sucking job as part of Sandover's tech support may have been impulsive, but it was honestly the only thing Sam felt he could do by that point to avoid snapping. The petty part of him that wondered whether Smith would even notice he was gone figured he'd notice and maybe even miss him the next time his PC turned up with some creative virus that spammed his computer with tentacle porn and none of the other barely trained tech monkeys could fix it, but mostly Sam just wished the man well in his chosen life that didn't involve a ghost-fighting partner.

Detroit was a big enough city that Sam could perhaps be forgiven for having forgotten that Sandover had been talking about opening a branch there and sending Smith to head it up until he spotted Smith himself walking down the street talking animatedly on his cell phone. Sam ducked into an alley to avoid being spotted, not that he figured Smith would recognize him with his three-week beard and ratty-edged coat over the navy coveralls he was wearing - a far cry from the khakis and polos Smith had always seen him in - but the last thing Sam wanted right now was for pressed and professional Dean Smith to see the dirty, ragged wreck that was currently Sam Wesson. He hadn't been wrong to leave Sandover, but that was surely how Smith would see it.

He was close enough to the mouth of the alley that he could just make out Smith angrily snarling that "I don't want excuses, I want my brother found!" Sam blinked and frowned, because something about that statement resonated with him in a way he didn't understand. Last he had known, Smith didn't have a brother, just a younger sister. It sounded like the brother had gone missing, though, which tugged at Sam's sympathy. He hoped the man found his missing brother soon, for Smith's peace of mind if nothing else. That niggling little voice that prodded him alongside the dreams that were more like visions of another reality whispered for him to step out of the alley, to go after Smith and... what, offer to help? Be Smith's cyber investigator to find his missing brother, possibly working closely with Smith during the search, only to go their separate ways again when the brother was found? No. He couldn't do it, not again.

He stepped back out of the alley, sending only one last glance in the direction Smith had gone, then turned and headed resolutely in the opposite direction towards his current client's office building. Being a discreet private investigator with a cover of "outsourced tech support" may sound like a step down from working for a large company like Sandover, but Sam was happy with it. He could wear what he liked most of the time, hence the comfortable and many-pocketed coveralls, and he could set his own hours for working and meetings with clients, allowing him more freedom to catch up on missed sleep during the day and use the cover of night for his less well paying job. Detroit was a big city, after all, and not all of the non-human residents were killers, but there were bad apples in every bunch and the good ones knew Sam would go to bat for them to keep the bad ones from attracting the wrong kind of attention.

Sam's meeting for the evening was handled without issue, the company having used his services before. Business discharged and the payment for his services wired to his account and confirmed, Sam headed out again. There had been reports filtering through his secondary network of informants that there was a newcomer in town with all the lack of subtlety typical of the very new or very arrogant. There had been two deaths already put down to 'mugging gone wrong' and Sam just hoped he could find the idiot fang before it turned into three and the police had to take official notice.

The navy coveralls only looked like a standard handyman or repair technician's uniform. It had been custom made for him by a Chinese tailor with five tails and a taste for liver whose air conditioner he had fixed that summer. The reinforced fabric was not bulletproof, but it was pretty much fang- and knife-proof and that was more important to Sam anyway. Out of view of the streets, he unfolded the collar and wrapped the fabric around his throat to just under his chin, making it look a little like a turtleneck. His gloves - dark brown rather than black - came out of the pocket of the dark grey water-resistant coat that only looked ratty around the edges. With the hood up and his beard to hide his jaw line, Sam Wesson was as anonymous as he could make himself be without wearing a much more noticeable mask. Given that his boots were steel-reinforced and held hidden knives, the official issue police holster under his coat held a Glock with silver bullets, and his multitude of pockets contained everything from garrote wire to a first aid kit with sutures, he was also about as armed as he could get as well.

...Almost.

"Evening, Pamela," he said, letting his voice rumble a little as he stepped up to the counter of the corner coffee hut and deli that managed to stay in business despite the expanding blighted areas and the "gentrification" efforts of the bigger chain companies. "Wind's up tonight, eh?"

"Blowing fierce in the West Village, Leo," Pamela said with a grin and a wink. "You want the usual or just a long slice?"

"Shouldn't need more than a slice tonight unless I'm going to end up pulling overtime..."

Pamela cocked her head to one side as if listening, though Sam knew from experience that she was Hearing without the use of her physical ears. Sam waited patiently and, after a moment, Pamela smirked.

"Nothing you would consider overtime, though you might want to pack a _raincoat_ ," she said with a much more salacious wink than before. Sam flushed, cursing silently that his beard didn't hide the blood rushing to his cheeks when Pamela just laughed at him and passed over a small cup of coffee. "Have fun tonight, Leo! Your order's ready around back."

"Thanks, Pamela," he muttered, giving her a small salute with the cup, and went around the side of the customer kiosk. True to her word, the long flat paper-wrapped package with a cartoonish lion drawn on the front was resting against the side. Sam picked it up and tucked it under his arm before setting off down the street again to look for another handy unpopulated alley in which he could remove the paper and stow the machete inside in the loops inside his coat.

The West Village did not actually refer to the literal western part of the city, being closer to south-southeast than west. It was still a bit of a hike from Pamela's shop, but Sam was used to walking everywhere in this city and knew which blighted areas were shortcuts and which weren't safe for humans to walk through, even when they were as heavily armed as Sam. He was close to the northern corner of the West Village when a shadow detached itself from the wall and a dark-haired woman fell into step beside him.

"Lenore," he greeted, not breaking stride.

"Leo," she returned. "Glad to see you out and about."

"Wish it was under better circumstances," Sam said in an even tone. "Your nest knows to stay clear?"

"We'll be standing by for clean up, but yes, they know. Lucy's made no friends among our community, operating like this without a formal challenge."

"You know who I'm after tonight?"

Lenore rattled off a fairly general description - female, medium blond hair, medium build, red leather jacket - and then slipped back into the shadows with a murmured "good hunting". Sam didn't watch her leave, just picked up his pace. The sun was going down.

Time to get to work.

**N** OT FOR THE first time did Sam silently curse the fact that Dean Smith had proven to be such a cautious, play-it-safe type. Pamela may have given him a location and Lenore may have given him a description, but there was still a lot of ground to cover even in as small a district as the West Village. What was worse, he had to cover it slowly. Casually. Don't spook the target _or_ the natives by charging around like a bull elephant with his dander up, but don't linger too long in one place, either... It was the sort of thing that having a partner would have made easier, either for splitting the territory to cover or giving each other mutual camouflage as they wandered the streets. Sam gave himself a moment to picture it, then snorted softly. As if a man like Dean Smith would ever be caught dead in anything less than his usual three piece suit and suspenders.

It would have been nice, though, he did admit. He had been out here for over an hour and while Lenore had drifted up to him twice to give him an update - no sign of Lucy yet - he had found himself mostly feeling very bored. Hunts like this were much more of a waiting game, letting the prey come out to do their own hunting before he could pounce--

Sam bit the inside of his cheek until he could almost taste blood and then released it. It wouldn't do to bleed while on the hunt for a fang, and it was in bad taste to offer up a temptation to his allies. Lenore's nest was very good about drinking only animal blood with occasional supplements of rejected donor blood from Detroit's Red Cross, and it would not be nice of him to dangle his own blood in front of them when they knew he was hunting.

It also wouldn't do to let himself start thinking too much like an actual predator. He was human, regardless of whatever that crazy extremist with a mad-on for vampires had thought, and part of him desperately needed to cling to that certainty even as he mingled with vampires and werewolves and other supernatural beings who just wanted to live their lives without being persecuted for existing. He needed to be the human who stood up for the peaceful coexistence with non-humans, not some glorified attack dog whose only value was in taking out the problematic interlopers. It was a balance.

Everything existed in a balance.

And Lucy was upsetting that balance, he reminded himself, clenching his jaw and pausing to direct his eyes at the menu displayed on the window of an uncrowded little diner. While he tracked the line of listed specials visually, his ears turned to the streets around him, listening. There was something off about the sounds, something other than just the standard chatter from tiny clusters of people here and there. A man's voice, probably tenor range but raspy like he had a cold or a smoking habit, was saying something about not being interested in... something. A lighter female voice broke in with a sing-song cajoling tone that made the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand up.

He heaved a sigh, as if the menu didn't seem appetising or the prices were out of his range, and turned, scanning the street for... there! Blonde hair, red leather jacket, crimson-painted lips curved in a playful smile directed at a man with dark hair and a tan overcoat whose body language practically screamed his discomfort with the woman trying to get up into his personal space. Sam considered his options. He knew the vampire's name, but the reason he was hunting her was because she was attracting attention and her reaction to a strange human greeting her by name was unpredictable. If he knew the man she was oh so subtly herding towards a nearby nook between shops, he could hail _him_ , but aside from the vague impression of familiarity that pinged off that part of his brain from which the dreams and visions came he didn't recognize the man at all. Sam grimaced. Research was his forte, and for all he had done theatre as a kid in school he wasn't that great at improv exercises.

He was still trying to figure out what to say as he stepped up to the entrance to the nook in time to see Lucy's fangs descend as she held the man pinned to the wall by his throat.

"Excuse me," he blurted out, "do you have a hunting permit?"

Lucy froze.

The guy she had pinned made a strangled noise that didn't sound very healthy.

"We're a union town, miss," Sam went on, a little desperately. "And we just can't have non-union freelancers hunting without a permit. Bad business, you understand."

"Surely you're joking," Lucy said, her voice distorted around the fangs but no less incredulous for it.

"No joke," Sam lied, unable to help himself from adding, "And don't call me 'Shirley'."

The pinned man made another, more wheezy sound that might have been a hysterical laugh if Lucy wasn't cutting off most of his air. Better do something about that, Sam thought to himself as Lucy scoffed, "Your jokes are in poor taste, and you're interrupting my dinner!"

"Considering you're operating in _my_ city without proper clearance and drawing too much attention from the humans, you might want to be careful what you call 'poor taste', _Lucy_ ," Sam said, and had the satisfaction of seeing her stiffen. The machete made no noise as he slipped it from the loops inside his coat, but he saw her eyes track to the blade immediately as her lips pulled back in a snarl.

" _Hunter_ ," she hissed, turning more towards him and - finally! - letting her intended victim drop, gasping, to the ground.

"Consider me the local union enforcer," Sam returned, lifting his blade at the ready.

She leapt at him, fangs bared and hands outstretched in some claw-like imitation of a beast or bird of prey. He spun away to the side, dodging the rush and bringing his knee up into her gut as she passed him before darting further into the recessed area. Not an alley or a cul-de-sac, just a narrow dead end with a dumpster and some broken pallets... close quarters fighting, and she was supernaturally stronger and faster than he was. He had to catch her quick if he was going to survive this. He turned, machete at the ready as she lunged back into the nook towards him--

She tripped on the outstretched leg of her erstwhile victim and Sam, not about to let the opening pass by, swung down and around with the machete with as much strength behind the blow as he could muster. The sharpened blade went through the neck, literally cutting off her howl of pain and rage before it could fully emerge. The body continued its forward motion to the ground and the head separated, rolling a few feet to bounce off the back wall and roll a few inches back.

"Union doesn't look so bad now, does it," Sam huffed at the fang-filled face that used to be Lucy the vampire. The head did not respond, but the guy slumped against the wall let out a choked laugh that was a little too close to hysterics for Sam's comfort. He stepped over the corpse and leaned the machete against the dumpster as he crouched down next to the man. "Hey, take it easy, it's okay now... take a deep breath, uh, through your mouth, it kinda smells back here..."

"What... what was..." the man choked out, looking up at Sam with very wide blue eyes that under normal circumstances would have sent his heart skipping.

"That was..." Sam sighed. "Officially? That was you getting mugged and a plain-clothes police consultant apprehending the mugger."

"That's some weird mugger!" the guy blurted out, still looking entirely too wild-eyed. His breathing was calming, at least, apparently taking Sam's advice to breathe through his mouth to avoid the smell.

"Yeah, well, 'mugging' is easier for most people to believe and accept than 'rogue vampire hunting without authorization'," Sam offered, then winced as the man lost much of the color in his face and twisted away to throw up on the pavement beside them.

"Did you really have to tell him that?" Lenore asked as she materialized out of the shadows with two of her nest that Sam recognized as Mikaela and Anjou. He nodded to them both and received nods in return before they set to work stripping Lucy of her belongings.

"He's still conscious and not screaming," Sam pointed out, averting his eyes from Mikaela and Anjou's work. The guy in question had tensed when the trio had arrived and drawn closer to Sam, who put a hand on his back and began rubbing circles in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "Initial and completely justified reactions aside, he's got the stones to handle the truth."

"And it didn't have anything at all to do with the fact Leo thinks the man's hot, nope," Mikaela muttered under her breath below normal human hearing range, barely audible to Sam's own ears. Sam flushed as Anjou snickered, but Lenore ignored them in favor of giving the man a thoughtful look.

"You may be right about that," she murmured. She grinned, then, her fangs bared. The man went rigid, but didn't move from Sam's side, and after a moment Lenore let her fangs slip away again and nodded. "Time will tell. Get your man home, Leo, we've got this."

"As you say," Sam answered, trying very hard not to think too closely about the way Lenore was saying "your man" like she knew Pamela sent him off with talk about raincoats that have nothing to do with the weather. To the man in question, he asked, "Think you can stand?"

"No, but I'm going to anyway," the man muttered, drawing another snicker from Anjou and an impressed hum from Mikaela. His eyes moved with the stuttered drag of an unwilling onlooker to Lucy's corpse and he stilled, frowning. "What are they doing?"

"Salvage," Sam said, not looking around to check for himself. He didn't have to. "Everything that's still in good condition. Lucy's not going to need it anymore, and no one out here is going to turn down free stuff. The shirt and jacket probably got some blood on them, though, sorry about that," he added to Lenore, who shrugged and moved to join Mikaela and Anjou.

"Mavis on Clifford Street is a genius at getting blood out of leather," she said. "Probably better than you are."

"She is," Sam agreed. "She taught me. And if you tell her Leo sent you, she'll work wonders on cleaning your coat for a discount."

That part was directed to the man who was leaning into Sam and putting one hand on the wall in preparation for trying to stand. He glanced up at Sam curiously, and Sam was once again struck by those incredible blue eyes. "Leo... that's you?"

"That's what they call me."

"You're taller than I expected," came the surprising statement. From the startled and ever so slightly panicked look that entered the man's eyes, his saying it was also a surprise and not exactly a pleasant one. "Er, that is to say, I didn't expect to meet Detroit's Hunter in quite this fashion. Not that I really expected to meet you at all, I mean, not while knowing you're _you_ , but--"

"Breathe," Sam broke in, resisting the urge to shoot a bewildered look in Lenore's direction and resolutely ignoring the snickering from Mikaela and Anjou. The man did as instructed, taking two deliberate and slow breaths in before letting them out again at the same slow and even pace. "What should I call you, by the way?"

"Cas," the man mumbled, then coughed and swallowed. "Castiel Papadopolous, but my roommate calls me Cas. Says my name is already complicated enough for three people."

"It's not the most complicated name I've ever heard," Sam told him, mind racing. "Cas" could have been a coincidence, but "Castiel" resonated in the same part of his mind that the dreams came from, and "C. Papadopoulos" was a familiar signature line in the emails and tech service tickets he used to handle at Sandover before the ghost and his subsequent resignation. He had never personally met the man from Accounting who had the reputation of being able to go after delinquent clients like a warrior of God on a holy mission, but they had spoken over the tech support lines and over email frequently. Brilliant with numbers he may have been, but the man was more than a bit hopeless with computers and had confided in Sam once that he thought his work computer knew he didn't trust it and kept breaking in hopes of escaping him. The urge to ask if he had kept the same computer with the move or if he had a new machine that was behaving itself better for him now was on the tip of Sam's tongue, but he swallowed it back and said instead, "You might want to avoid giving your full name out in certain parts of the city, though, or use an alias. Some folks out here would take a given name as an invitation for mischief."

"I do?" Cas looked up at Sam again, brows furrowed. "But... you told me your name...."

"Did I?"

"You said your name is Leo!"

"I said that's what they call me," Sam corrected, shaking his head. "It works well enough as an identifier when I'm out and about in these parts, but it's not my proper given name. I didn't actually ask for yours, either, just what I should call you."

"Cas is fine," Cas muttered, looking down again. He winced and averted his eyes towards the dumpster. "Uh, so... I don't suppose you would tell me what it takes to get your real name?"

"A proper date and a kiss at the door?" Mikaela suggested from a lot closer than Sam was expecting her to be. Fortunately, he was able to keep himself from doing more than tense, but the apologetic touch to his arm before she handed him a scrap of dark red cloth told him she had still noticed.

"That would be one way," he said in as even a tone as possible while accepting the cloth, the origins of which he was studiously Not Thinking About. It made cleaning the blood off the machete go faster, though, which was the important part, and soon he was handing it back to Mikaela to be disposed of with the body. The machete went back into the loop in his coat and Sam stood up, grimacing at the way his knees cracked from being crouched down for so long. "Ready to try standing?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose," Cas sighed. He accepted the hand Sam offered, and did a decent job of pushing off the wall as Sam hauled him up. "Now what?"

"Now, we get out of this alley, I walk you home so that nothing else catches Lucy's scent on you and gives you any further trouble for the night, and you tell your roommate that you were almost mugged and - most importantly - that the local authorities handled the situation. If your roommate knows anything about this side of Detroit's residents, that'll be enough of a clue, but if he doesn't then he's reassured without giving away secrets."

"I was almost mugged but the local authorities handled the situation," Cas repeated. "What if he does know?"

"Then you can probably talk about whatever you want with him," Sam said with a shrug, turning towards the mouth of the alley as he heard the dull metallic thud of something large and meaty dropping into the dumpster. "There's only two ways humans usually find out about things like this, and one is definitely better than the other. You coming?"

Cas hurried to catch up with him and they left the alley before the orange flare of the dumpster's contents going up in flames painted the bricks.

**T** HE ENSUING WALK back to the apartment complex in one of the better neighborhoods was peppered with questions from Cas about the supernatural community of Detroit. Sam answered them as best he could, splitting his attention between Cas and their surroundings and shooting warning looks at the few figures they passed who took a little too much interest in his companion's scent. Cas never commented on those moments, but each one sent him inching closer into Sam's personal space until their hands were brushing constantly. When Sam glanced down at him, Cas met his eyes with flushed cheeks and his lower lip between his teeth. The rest of the walk proceeded with their hands clasped between them, which decreased the predatory attention significantly, and neither of them said a word about it. Instead, Cas asked for an explanation of the two ways humans learned about the supernatural, and then expressed disbelief when Sam said that both ways, good and bad, were rooted in love.

"It's not that surprising, when you think about it," Sam said. "A vampire or werewolf or selkie falls in love with a human, get into a relationship, explain things to the human and hope they take it well... Extended family, close friends or roommates, the spirit of a loved one who stays behind after death to protect someone or something... These are good ways to find out, but imagine a rogue vampire like Lucy, or a werewolf who didn't take precautions every month, and you get the people who find out because they lose someone they love to those rogues or, in the rarer cases, are attacked themselves and survive for one reason or another."

"Like me," Cas hummed, and Sam nodded.

"It's not very common outside the cities and the oversight of licensed sanctioned hunters, but I've heard that there are unlicensed freelancers who take up the jobs in rural or back country areas, dealing with things like rawheads and wendigos that live out in the middle of nowhere. Some of them get the occasional ghost or urban legend, too, and the survivors of those incidents often become unlicensed freelancers as well," he said, casting his eyes up and Not Thinking about the dreams. That wasn't his life, no matter how connected he felt to it. "There are support lines and waypoint stops, but that bunch are usually too traumatized and paranoid to really organize much, and since they're unlicensed they often end up with criminal records."

"That can't be helpful," Cas said with a grimace.

Sam snorted. "What's even less helpful is the way that lot treat the knowledge of the supernatural like it's the Statute of Secrecy and they're the Aurors. No one who doesn't already _know_ ever gets told, especially not the law enforcement, and a lot of them don't know the numbers to call for official back up from us licensed hunters. Instead they go in pretending to be FBI or game wardens or whatever and just muddle about breaking and entering or desecrating graves. They honestly want to save people, but they almost never get the right information on how to do it and, well, paranoia. A lot of them could really use therapy, but trying to find a psychiatrist who's in the know is even harder, so they don't get help unless they have a breakdown and even then... well, I know I don't need to tell you how crazy all this would sound to a normal human."

"Very," Cas agreed in a dry tone, though he squeezed Sam's hand slightly. "What happens if they don't get help?"

"Nothing good," Sam sighed. "If they're lucky but not lucky enough, they die on a hunt, becoming the newest victim of whatever they were hunting and maybe taking it out with them. If they're too lucky, the trauma and paranoia builds up until they see everything supernatural as irredeemably evil, as monsters. Those extremists don't bother waiting for a vampire or werewolf or black dog to start killing humans before they kill _them._ They can even start going after humans who show inclinations of supernatural powers, like witches and psychics, even if no one ever dies around them. Hell, this one guy who came through tried to shoot _me_."

"That's awful!" Cas shuddered, edging closer. "What happened? He didn't actually shoot you, did he?"

"Not for lack of trying," Sam grimaced. "Guy was an extremist about vampires, but somehow he'd gotten it into his head that I have demon blood and was going to start the Apocalypse or something. He wasn't too coherent after my roommate and I caught him."

Cas was silent for a moment, then asked in a small voice, " _Do_ you have demon blood?"

"Not that I've ever noticed," Sam answered evenly. It was a reasonable question. "I mean, I get weird dreams and the occasional vision sometimes, but nothing very exciting and a lot less impressive than some other psychics I know. Even if I do have traces of demon blood in me from somewhere, well, I'm a big believer in free will and actions meaning more in the long run than genetic predisposition. Walker was certainly more of a monster than the vampires he was slaughtering."

"That's fair," Cas mumbled. He was silent, then, and Sam let him be. He made no move to retract his hand or put space between them, however, and Cas seemed equally disinclined to create distance. They'd walked two more blocks closer to Cas's apartment building when the other man finally blurted out, "My family's descended from an angel."

Sam blinked. That was a surprise, especially considering the lore Sam had found on angels said that offspring between them and humans - Nephilim - were forbidden. "How'd that happen? I mean, besides the obvious."

"According to family legend, our ancestor was the vessel for one of the angels who came to Egypt before the slaughter of the first born," Cas said, looking both relieved and a touch embarrassed. He'd probably been worried that Sam wouldn't believe him, which Sam could understand even after everything they'd spoken of already. "She was already pregnant at the time, but being the vessel of an angel meant that her baby got exposed to the angel's Grace while still in the womb. Not enough to make the child a full Nephilum, but enough that our family is a bit... quirky. Most of us end up as doctors or soldiers or some other profession that puts us on the front lines of defending humanity. I'm the first to become just a boring old corporate accountant."

"Really?" Sam asked, biting back the urge to say anything about how he doubted Cas was a _boring_ accountant with his reputation at Sandover. That was a can of worms he wasn't ready to touch yet.

"Really," Cas nodded with a rueful little smile. "Well, I've got a third cousin in Illinois who sells ad space for a radio station, but he and I are the only boring outliers."

"Hey, not everyone has an aptitude for medicine or the right mindset for military service," Sam shrugged. "I'm certainly not, and I never had to try and enlist to learn that one."

"Oh yeah?"

"My dad was a Marine in 'Nam," Sam grimaced. "It kinda messed him up. Most of the time when he was sober, he did his best to be my Dad, you know? But sometimes, when he was drinking or when certain anniversaries rolled around, it was like living with a belligerent drill sergeant. No directions, just orders, and the mother of all beatdowns if I talked back. Worst fight we ever had was when I got accepted to college and he told me if I left then I shouldn't bother coming back."

"Over going to college?" Cas sounded concerned and bewildered in equal measures, and Sam grimaced.

"Mom died when I was a baby, so I was pretty much all Dad had left. Intellectually I knew that, knew he was just afraid of being left alone, but in the heat of the moment all that mattered was our anger," Sam blew out a breath and ducked his head. "I went home over Christmas to try and reconcile with him, but..."

"It didn't go well?"

"Could have gone worse, I guess," Sam sighed. "He was in a coma. Car accident, drunk driver. No one had called me because Dad didn't have my new phone number. While I was there, talking to him, he flatlined. His doctor thought he was hanging on only long enough for me to get there so he wouldn't die alone."

Cas halted, and his grip on Sam's hand made him come to a stop as well. Before Sam could ask what was wrong, strong arms wrapped around him as Cas stepped right into his personal space and hugged him. Sam froze, battling down the learned instinct to fight free of the hold... the embrace. Sam's hands shook as he lifted them to rest hesitantly on the other man's back.

"I'm so sorry," Cas mumbled against Sam's shoulder. "You shouldn't have had to go through that, especially not alone."

"It's okay, Cas," Sam mumbled back, swallowing against the lump in his throat that tried to turn his voice strained and tight. "It's okay... I mean, it sucked, but it is what it is, and I wasn't alone once I got back to school. And, in a way, it led me to where I am now, so I can't really complain too much about it. I like where I am."

"Where are you?" Cas asked, barely above a whisper. Sam tilted his head down, finding his nose buried in dark hair that smelled ever so faintly of mint.

"I'm in a city I love, with a job that gives me satisfaction and a feeling of fulfillment, standing with a man I very much want to get to know better," he murmured into that dark hair, feeling Cas shiver a little against him. "I'm right here, Cas. Where are you?"

"Right here," Cas breathed. "I thought I was lost, floundering in this city like a bird underwater, but you found me."

"I did," Sam agreed, stroking one hand down the length of Cas's spine. "Can I keep you, Castiel Papadopolous?"

"Mischief," Cas breathed on the end of a slightly wet chuckle. The silk of skin and scrape of stubble slid rasping against Sam's neck as the shorter man tilted his head back to meet Sam's eyes with his own too-bright blue ones over a shaky little grin. "Are you of faerie blood instead of demon, Leo, to take my name and keep me for your own?"

Sam's chest twisted and his blood flared. "If I say no, can I keep you anyway?"

_"Yes..."_

**I** T TOOK FAR longer than it really should have for them to get moving after that, too drunk on the taste of each other's lips to want to separate even so far enough as to make walking easier. The apartment Cas lived in, shared with his best friend and coworker, was not so far away as Sam's own apartment that he shared with Madison, so to Cas's building they went. It might have been safer for them to stick to the more well-lit streets, but Leo's reputation was solid enough that Sam was willing to risk taking Cas through some of the less well trodden back ways. This part of town wasn't the truly dangerous area anyway, not to humans. Jokes about fae blood aside, Sam wasn't about to take a human - even one with angel blood in his lineage - through the whisper-named district those locals in the know called "Underhilltown".

Cas fumbled with the keys a little when they reached the door, but did get it open in relatively short order. There, however, they both hesitated, Cas standing on the threshold of the open apartment door, Sam standing half in shadow and half in the flickering yellow light of the hall. Wordlessly, Cas held out a hand. Mentally telling the imaginary cackling Pamela in his head to shut up and leave him alone, Sam reached out and placed his hand in Cas's, letting the other man draw him inside across the threshold.

The door snicked shut behind them and lips found lips again, hands moving under coats and pushing the heavy outerwear from firm, broad shoulders. Sam winced a little as his own coat made a telltale metallic clunking sound as it hit the floor, feeling an echoing flinch in Cas at the audible reminder of the weapons his prospective lover was carrying and what he'd just used those weapons to do not even an hour ago. It didn't seem to bother the man for long, though, because Cas resumed kissing Sam with a fervor that seemed out of place for what little Sam had known of him back in Sandover, but seemed to fit the Cas he'd spent time talking with on the walk over very well.

They left the coats on the floor as they went deeper into the apartment, Cas leading them blind and backwards with Sam following as close as he dared, kisses parting and rejoining in time with their steps until a misstep on someone's part caused them both to fall against one of the closed doors with a thump that dissolved into breathless giggles as they stood clutching at each other.

The door they had fallen into swung open.

"Okay," said a terrifyingly familiar voice as the light from inside the bedroom turned on. Sam felt ice water pour through his veins as the very familiar, half-dressed figure of Dean Smith resolved itself into the doorway and continued, "I wasn't going to interrupt your hook-up because I'm a considerate roommate like that, but please take it away from my room?"

"We're trying," Cas huffed, managing to untangle his legs from between Sam's. "I'm not usually trying to navigate the apartment while in a liplock!"

"You need more practice," Smith said, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Are we doing introductions, then, or can it... wait...."

He trailed off, eyes having adjusted to the change in light, staring at Sam.

Sam stared back, unable to move. Even knowing that this man was in Detroit since earlier today had not prepared him for this. Not just coming face to face with him, but doing so while clearly in the middle of hooking up with the man's apparent best friend and roommate.

Cas was certainly not blind to the tension between them either, looking back and forth between Smith and Sam with wary confusion. "You two know each other," he pronounced slowly.

"Sammy?" Smith breathed, staring up at Sam as if he was looking at another ghost, albeit a much less murderous one than the ghost they had faced together all those months ago.

Sam swallowed. Nodded shortly.

"Hello, Dean."

**=End=**


End file.
